War
Like sand in his palm, he always slips through, and before Bokuto can try to gather it, it’s already gone.
Sun-kissed, tanned skin. Harsh, warm eyes the colour of coal. Bokuto Koutarou once again finds himself looking at an extremely familiar face.
“Trust me. I swear I won’t hurt him—you have my word.”
“Your words mean shit to me, Bokuto Koutarou,” he hisses back, his gaze sharp as a blade, his knuckles white with restraint as he tightens his grip on his whip. “How do you expect me to trust you of all people?”
“I never go back on my word.”
A snort. “Yeah, unless you’re throwing out promises to those of Dong He.”
“Akaashi is different.”
“But I’m not.”
Bokuto blinks once, pulling himself back to reality as he stares at the immortal standing before him in bewilderment. It’s only then that he realises that the others are
slowly sinking to their knees, and he hurries to follow.
Iwaizumi’s expression changes the moment Akaashi starts sinking to his knees; his eyes fill with a sort of panic. Almost frantically, he clears his throat. Shaking his head, his hands flail for but a moment before he says, “You don’t have to kneel.” His words are rushed, breathless, panicked. “Please, Akaashi-san, don’t.”
Akaashi remains on his knees, head bowed, before he rises ever-so-slowly, calm and elegant as ever. It’s only when he’s straightened that he speaks, leveling his gaze on the deity before him, voice cool as ice. “Why not?” He asks. “It is only natural for me to pay respects to My Lord.”
Iwaizumi cringes at the title. “You don’t have to call me that,” he says softly, his hands lowering to his sides awkwardly. Bokuto catches sight of a coiled whip at the immortal’s side; he’s dressed in pale, cyan and white robes lined with gold, the whip strapped to his hip, a bow slung across his shoulder, and a heavy sabre at his side. Iwaizumi Hajime is an arsenal, a one-man army, and he stands as though he’s got the world on his back, but his weapons are weightless. In his eyes, there are remnants of a war long gone. Judging by the familiarity he treats Akaashi with, Bokuto’s fairly certain that the two have known each other for a very, very long time. They probably fought in the Dong He-Yao Long war together.
“It is only natural,” Akaashi says smoothly. Kageyama and Hinata rise, looking only a little starstruck, which is, of course, a stark contrast to Akaashi’s usual calm expression. “You are, after all, one of the direct messengers of the Upper Plane.”
“I’m not,” Iwaizumi replies helplessly. “That’s Oikawa.”
The dark-robed immortal tilts his head to the side, a small smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Talk is that you will soon join your beloved in that position.”
Iwaizumi grimaces. “You believe such hearsay?”
Akaashi’s gaze casts itself skyward. “Would the Heavens and those above permit such rumours to run so freely if it were false?” His gaze meets Iwaizumi’s calmly. “I think not.”
It’s silent for a moment. Then—
“I’m sorry I came so late,” Iwaizumi apologises sheepishly, a rough, calloused hand coming up to palm the nape of his neck as he glances to the side somewhat guiltily. “Judging from your letter, it seemed like you guys had quite a fight before—”
For the first time since his entrance, Iwaizumi glances Bokuto’s way. Coal-black eyes meet with luminescent gold ones and the deity’s words fail him. In fact, he almost chokes as he cuts himself off completely. When he regains his bearings, the first thing he blurts out is, “You?”
Bokuto blinks. “Uh… Me?” Pointing at himself in confirmation after glancing around several times to make sure Iwaizumi is looking at him and not someone else behind or beside him, he tilts his head to the side and blinks, not unlike a bewildered owl. “What about me? They had a rough time before me? What?”
“What are you doing here? You’re—”
“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama interjects, his tone one of panicked warning. His blue eyes glance upwards once, and then he meets the astonished deity’s gaze once more, expression cagey. But he says no more.
Bokuto blinks again.
Iwaizumi clears his throat, coughing into his fist as he shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed together as he frowns in thought. The light-robed official exchanges a glance with Kageyama and Hinata, but speaks no further on the subject. Hesitantly, he gives Bokuto another strange glance before veering back onto the subject at hand. “Uh… I need to sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”
Kageyama makes a gesture. Kitsu, who’s remained silent throughout the whole exchange, hurriedly bows and disappears. Hinata turns around and gestures for the group to follow, which they do.
Once they’ve all settled in their seats in the lounge, Iwaizumi clasps his hands together, frowning, as though he can’t decide what to talk about first. There’s a moment of hesitation; his eyes flit over to where Bokuto is seated next to Akaashi, their thighs almost touching, and a sort of sharp pain flickers in his eyes at the sight. Naturally, both spirit and dark-robed heavenly official miss this. By the time they meet his gaze, it’s regained its usual stony determination and warm kindness. When he speaks, his tone is tired, and he runs a hand through his spiky, dark hair. “Someone’s covering this up,” he begins, meeting each and every one of their gazes. Even Bokuto’s. “I caught a servant sneaking around with Hinata’s letter. If not for the timing, I don’t think I would have received that piece of paper at all. I had to use force.”
“So there is a spy?” Kaegayama asks.
Iwaizumi purses his lips. Though he doesn’t confirm it, he doesn’t deny it, either. Instead, he says, “Maybe. But if there are, it isn’t just one. I doubt that boy had a big role to play in all of this.”
Hinata speaks up, voice small. “... so Heaven is truly not safe anymore?”
Anguish flits across Iwaizumi’s face. “We did some more investigating. Miyagi isn’t the only one who’s fallen victim to these attacks. Oikawa is… he’s not happy. And that means the ones up high—higher than us—are probably royally pissed. And the fact that this has been going on for years, right under all our noses—that isn’t helping either.”
Akaashi’s gaze is one of caution as it flits over to Kageyama and Hinata, who exchange a look. The latter is the one who ends up speaking. “Kageyama and I wondered before if the heavens had spies planted around… so it’s true?”
The martial deity’s calloused hands find their way to his whip. Hesitantly, he pulls it out, running his hands over the bronze handle. His eyebrows are so furrowed, Bokuto wonders how the guy doesn’t have any wrinkles.
He’s a deity, he thinks to himself drily. How can he have wrinkles if he can just wave them away? And then, man, that would be so useful.
The man finally concedes. “... Maybe. I don’t know.” He runs a tired hand over his face. “I’ve been running around doing investigations these past few months. Oikawa… he has his suspicions, too. And… deities, there’s so much going on. It’s all a hot mess.”
There’s silence.
“And so,” Akaashi begins drily, folding his hands neatly across his lap. “The heavens are, once again, corrupted. What else is new?”
Iwaizumi, Hinata and Kageyama’s expressions are all one of guilt and helplessness, but none of them refute. Bokuto glances in the deity’s direction and notes the particular, extra stoniness in his eyes, his tone, the way a cold fire burns beneath his otherwise cool gaze.
And he realises that Akaashi Keiji has never loved the heavens.
But where would you go if you don’t even have a place to call home?
I knew the Heavens were bad, he thinks bitterly, but I didn’t know they were this bad.
“And you,” Iwaizumi finally says, cutting through the silence. His gaze lands on Bokuto and he folds his arms together, leaning against the couch with his head tilted to the side, lips curved downwards in a frown. “How do you come into all of this?”
Bokuto blinks. “Why are you so pissy with me?”
The words aren’t his own, per se, but he says them nonetheless the moment they pop into his mind. He doesn’t realise he’s frowning until he notices the astonished expressions on everyone’s face, and, sheepishly, he withdraws his expression, averting his gaze briefly. Thankfully, before Iwaizumi can refute, Akaashi cuts in with a sigh. “I picked him up off the street, Iwaizumi-san. I saw his name on the records for wandering souls in Diyu and figured I’d pick him up and help him to solve his grievances since he was on the way.” Akaashi taps his fingers against his thigh. “Why are all of you always so apprehensive?”
Iwaizumi’s face is almost green, and Kageyama and Hinata wear identical expressions of sympathy and pity. Bokuto frowns, confused, and Akaashi merely rolls his eyes. “Well?”
“Because…” Hinata says. Immediately, Kageyama and Iwaizumi’s eyes latch onto him. He pauses for a moment, frightened, before he straightens his back and levels his gaze, determination shining in those bright eyes. “Because he’s Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi-san.”
The aforementioned official raises an eyebrow. “And? What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ll know in time,” Iwaizumi interjects just as Hinata opens his mouth. His eyes cast themselves skywards before he continues half a beat later. “... If that is what Heaven wills, you will know in time.”
Akaashi snorts, but says nothing. But his words hang in the air, mocking and sceptic in nature. Sure. And we all know how Heaven’s will works.
“Anyway,” Iwaizumi says, once again trying to bring them back to the topic at hand. “Ushijima’s been sent to Hyogo to meet with the twins and Kita-sama.” Pursing his lips, Iwaizumi finally returns his whip to its rightful place at his hip. “Since the case we assigned Akaashi to investigate turned out to be more of a shitshow than we expected, well, Oikawa and the others figure that the other places must be going through the same thing. Which I’m fairly certain I’ve mentioned not too long ago.”
“Well,” Kageyama comments. “Oikawa-san isn’t the war strategist of the Heavens for nothing.”
A tentative smile curls at the cyan-robed deity’s thin lips as his harsh eyes soften and fill with what can only be love and pride. “Yes,” he sighs. “You’re right.”
God, Bokuto thinks. I do not want to see these two in the same room together.
“To be fair,” Akaashi begins, effectively wiping off Iwaizumi’s doe-eyed expression with his voice. “None of you gave me an actual location to investigate. I had to rely on external resources.”
Iwaizumi’s eyes grow cold. “Like who?”
“Beom.”
The official blinks. “Beom?”
“He means Sakurai Kohaku,” Kageyama supplies. “And his cousins.”
At this, the other falls silent, freezing in his seat. Then, hesitantly, he meets Akaashi’s calm gaze. “... I forget that you have dangerous connections.” Harsh eyes flit over to Bokuto for a split second, and the latter tilts his head in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. But Iwaizumi doesn’t elaborate.
“How is Beom dangerous?” The ex-athlete blurts, unable to reel in his curiosity. “He just seems a little feisty to me…? I can’t understand how someone like him can pose so much danger.”
“Well,” Iwaizumi huffs out a breath, a scowl painting his features as he crosses his arms and legs tightly, leaning against the couch. “For one, he knows too much. More than he should, and, usually, of things he shouldn’t.”
Bokuto blinks. “And? What’s wrong with knowing shit?”
Iwaizumi levels his gaze at Bokuto. There’s a sort of pressure to it, the type that usually makes animals sink back in fear, but for some reason, the spirit meets it steadily, head-on. He doesn’t shy from it and, instead, makes himself seem expectant for an answer. Perhaps spending these few days with an upright, sort-of-proud deity has rubbed off on him. But then the dark-eyed man’s gaze turns thoughtful, contemplative, calculating. Then he says, slowly, “Some things, Bokuto Koutarou, are better left unknown. And some things are meant to be buried in the flow of time.”
“Sounds like a coward’s way out,” is his immediate reply.
Iwaizumi’s snort is condescending. “You forget that, most of the time, it’s the cowards who survive.”
Bokuto opens his mouth to reply, but Hinata cuts in. “And Sakurai Kohaku—Beom-san—is one of the best killers of his time. Even now, he still is.” Hinata crosses his fingers together. “Too smart, too cunning, too all-knowing, and with a talent for killing—how could the Heavens not be apprehensive of him?”
“And he’s not an immortal. He’s a demon,” Kageyama adds. “With what happened to his father, he has every right to hate the Heavens. And so, those up top have every reason to be cautious of him.”
Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Not just him. All of the people who took part in the rebellion—or even their relatives—they all have a right to hate the Heavens.”
“What makes it different is that Beom’s father was an immortal,” Akaashi adds in quietly. “And he, as the son of a ‘sinner’, can never have the privilege of being one. He won’t ever have a divine weapon of his own, and even his cousins are treated as outcasts in the heavenly realms.”
Bokuto frowns. “But why?” He asks. “It wasn’t their fault, right? Whatever happened.”
Akaashi’s laugh is chilling. “Iwaizumi would tell you that it’s because Heaven is strict, and that it wants to make an example out of those who dare to oppose it. But I think it’s because they’re all greedy, sadistic, power-hungry cowards who can’t bear the humiliation of having one of their own turn against them.”
Iwaizumi looks like he’s been stabbed with a knife, but he doesn’t refute. But Hinata speaks, his voice pained and soft. “How could you say that, Akaashi-san?” He asks sorrowfully. “You live there.”
“Just because I have a dwelling in the realm above doesn’t mean I consider it home,” Akaashi responds coolly. “When have they ever treated me warmly? When have they ever given me help in my time of need? Never. ” His hand flies upwards; Bokuto knows he’s clutching the pendant that’s ever-present around his neck. “Not when I needed it most, and certainly not now. And now that there’s a spy—” his laugh is sharp, like broken glass “—they deserve it.”
Bokuto wonders, briefly, what Akaashi must have gone through to amass this sort of bone-deep hatred. But before he can open his mouth, Iwaizumi speaks, frustration creeping into his tone, “You’re still a heavenly official, Akaashi. You can’t just say that.”
The dark-robed deity meets the other’s equally dark gaze coolly. “And I wish every second of every day that I am not.”
“Then why don’t you quit?” His voice raises itself just a fraction; his crossed arms tighten and his hands turn into fists. “Why do you stay if you still hate it so much?”
Akaashi opens his mouth, then pauses. A mystified sort of look flashes across his face and he frowns, his hand dropping from the pendant he holds.
Silence.
Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t…” Akaashi blinks, then shakes his head. “It just… It feels like I owe it to someone to stay.”
“So Heaven isn’t as benevolent as everyone makes it to be is what I’m getting from this,” Bokuto finally cuts in. Next to him, the dark-robed immortal chuckles emotionlessly in agreement, but comments no further.
Eventually, Iwaizumi sighs and turns to Hinata, making it clear that the topic has come to an end. “So tell me, in detail, what’s been happening. Your letter was good, but I still need the info in detail.”
So Hinata talks. He talks of how they’d only realised the attacks had been happening only two months ago and how they’ve been trying to stop it, though they still can’t find the root of the problem. How he and Kageyama’s investigations led them to believe the ghouls have a leader and that someone in the heavens might be covering up for whoever that is and their sinful deeds. Kageyama adds in a few things here and there, and finally, they speak of what happened after Akaashi and Bokuto arrived. How the attacks kicked up, how things started spiralling.
The dark-eyed deity frowns at this before turning to the dark-robed official seated next to Bokuto. “That’s suspicious.”
Akaashi’s hands clasp together. “You’re thinking of the war, aren’t you?”
Iwaizumi’s expression doesn’t change much. Instead, his frown deepens and he shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s suspicious enough as is, but now that the attacks have kicked up only after your arrival… It just reminds me of it.”
“It’s a very far stretch to assume the attacks kicked up because of my involvement,” Akaashi comments calmly. “I’m nothing but a lowly official from the Upper Realm. How can you be sure it’s because of me and not because Heaven has sent officials to investigate the situation?”
“Because,” Iwaizumi responds tightly. “It’s you.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.” The deity coolly folds his hands together over his lap as he levels his gaze at the spiky-haired one, hie bearing ever-so-patient and immovable. “Care to elaborate?”
“I can’t,” is the reply through gritted teeth, a frustrated growl. “Heavens, Akaashi, I would tell you if I could, but the problem is, I can’t. Neither can Hinata or Kageyama. None of us can.”
At this, Bokuto blinks at the same time Akaashi’s elegant features turn down into a slightly confused frown. “... Tell me what?”
Iwaizumi shakes his head, lips shut tight. If it were Bokuto, he’d have pried more, but Akaashi is not Bokuto Koutarou. So the spirit watches as the dark-robed deity’s gunmetal-blue eyes dim and he recedes into himself, falling silent and still once more. Under the soft light of the lounge, he looks, as usual, beautiful. Ethereal. The spirit finds himself thinking of their time on the roof not so long ago, the way the deity allowed him to sidle close. Closer and closer.
And then he’d pushed him away.
Pushed him away and said they didn’t know each other. Pushed him away and told him he didn’t want a lover, that he’d never had one, that he’d never wanted one. Bokuto casts his gaze to the side, missing the keen way Akaashi’s returned his gaze, as though he’s calculating something and mulling it over. No, he’s too absorbed in his own thoughts to even listen to the conversation happening in front of him.
“Why are you covered in bandages again, Akaashi?” Bokuto frowns, stepping forwards. Unsurprisingly, the assassin retains his cold bearing, his eyes giving the impression that he’s looking down on Bokuto, who’s taller than him, even as he takes the smallest step backwards. “What happened?”
“Why do you care?” A cold, hard voice bites out begrudgingly. “Don’t you know what an assassin is good for? Your emperor oh-so-graciously offered me another job.” A sharp, bitter laugh fills the room. “Coming here was a mistake,” he hisses. “What’s the difference if I am made to kill the same sort of people over and over again no matter where I go?”
A chill crawls down Bokuto’s spine. “Let me help you.”
“No,” Akaashi replies stonily. “I don’t want your help, Bokuto.” The way Akaashi spits out his name like it’s a curse, paired with the way there’s no honorific or title before it, is a blatant act of disrespect. Once upon a time, Bokuto might have already started to fight. They’d be at each other’s throats with their words and their actions.
But the more time Akaashi Keiji spends in Yao Long, the more Bokuto sees of him, the more he finds himself pitying him.
And that pity naturally overpowers any sort of hatred or misgivings he’s harboured for the assassin. It gives way to a sort of kindness, a sort of warmth—one that the assassin before him is too cautious and suspicious of to accept. To him, it is too foreign, too unpredictable a variable.
And humans, demons, animals, whatever species there may be—they are always afraid of that which they do not understand.
So he sighs. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Sure,” comes the sarcastic, deadpan reply. “That’s what they all say before they start beating me up.”
And before Bokuto can reply, there’s the faintest rush of wind, and then Akaashi Keiji is gone.
Like sand in his palm, he always slips through, and before Bokuto can try to gather it, it’s already gone.
Bokuto pulls himself back into reality.
The officials before him are still discussing matters, completely and utterly oblivious to his sudden flashback. Or, well, whatever the fuck that was. Iwaizumi’s rough, sandpaper voice reaches Bokuto’s ears and effectively pulls him out of the last of his thoughts as he asks, “Kageyama said you called for backup?”
The orange-haired official nods his confirmation. “I did, but… I can’t be sure if they’ll be free or not. You know how they are.”
“Oh, so I know them,” Iwaizumi comments, frowning. “With how the Heavens are right now, I can’t say that that’s reassuring. Can we really trust them?”
Kageyama and Hinata exchange a glance before they turn to meet Bokuto’s gaze. Clearly, they hadn’t expected that he would meet their eyes, because the both of them jump in surprise. Both glance away sheepishly, mirroring the other’s actions before Hinata properly answers the pale-robed deity seated next to them. “I’m sure we can. They’re reliable, and they’ve been helping us for so long.”
Bokuto wonders if the Heavens like to talk in circles.
The discussion lasts long. By the time Bokuto goes to sleep, it’s almost one in the afternoon.
——————
“How did you become an immortal?” Bokuto finds the question leaving his lips before he can stop it. They’re back in their room; Akaashi is disrobing and the spirit is very respectfully looking away with his back faced to the deity as the sound of rustling clothes fills the room. The soft thump of several qiankun pouches being set on the bedside table enters his ears, and he knows they’re the ones given to them by Shun and Hwanjae.
As usual, Akaashi takes his sweet time. He lets the question hang in the air for a few moments longer as he tidies his things and takes out the clothes he intends to wear the day next. Just when the spirit thinks he might have to either repeat the question or drop it completely, Akaashi’s quiet voice enters his ears. He sounds reluctant, almost. “... I did many things in the past.”
So the spirit frowns, turning around after he deems it alright. True to his assumptions, Akaashi is seated on his bed, wearing only his inner robes, long, dark hair cascading over his shoulders and down the bedsheets. He is the very picture of cold, serene beauty, and tenderly, Bokuto thinks, my jewel.
The former athlete pulls himself out of his reverie with the slightest shake of his head. Akaashi raises an amused eyebrow, but comments no further. His pale hands are, as usual, delicately folded over his lap as his back remains straight as a pillar as he patiently waits for Bokuto to gather his bearings and respond, no doubt with yet another question, if past experiences are anything to go by.
“Is it one of those ‘great feat’ things?” True to the heavenly official’s assumptions, Bokuto asks another question. Amused with himself, a small smile tugs at the corner of his thin lips but vanishes as soon as the spirit meets the deity’s gaze, as though it was never there at all. “Like… you’d have to do a really, really good thing, like the type that could shake the world and all that jazz, or you’d have to do some unspeakable amount of bad. Is that it?”
And now his expression thoroughly sours. Again, his hands find the pendant hung around his neck. Akaashi’s gaze is far, far, away, even as his voice remains stable, cool and ever-present. “I suppose you could say that.”
“What did you do?”
Akaashi’s gaze is ice-cold, but Bokuto holds his ground and doesn’t shy away. Instead, he meets it head on, letting the curiosity and determination in his eyes speak to the heavenly official in front of him instead of using his words.
“I told you I was an assassin,” he says cautiously, but Bokuto refutes it immediately.
“You can’t say you killed a lot of important people,” he says. “It wouldn’t make any sense, otherwise. If that’s the case, why don’t other assassins ascend? Heck, why doesn’t anyone who’s killed anyone or fought in the war ascend? It just doesn’t add up. You had to have done something mind-breaking, or whatever.”
Actually, Akaashi knows this. It’s just that he’s never quite known the reason for his ascension himself, and so, his endless years of going around and around searching for the why to his rise has always led him to this. So he shakes his head. “Bokuto-san,” he begins. “I’ll be honest with you—I don’t quite know myself.”
To which the spirit frowns. “That’s… weird.”
Akaashi almost snorts. That’s one way to put it. ‘Suspicious’ is more accurate.
But alas; mortals will always hold the Heavens in a higher regard whether they know of its corruption or not. Bokuto is, of course, no exception.
“What was it like?” He asks. “Ascending, I mean.”
“Nauseating,” Akaashi replies almost immediately. There’s no other word that’s more suitable than this one. “I felt like jumping off the moment I got there.”
Bokuto blinks. “Why?”
Akaashi taps his fingers on his lap absent-mindedly. “It just… it felt like I didn’t belong there. And none of them treated me like I did, anyway. They still don’t.”
“But you are a heavenly official, right?” Bokuto shakes his head, unable to comprehend the ways of heaven. “Aren’t they all supposed to be, like, centuries old? Why are they all acting like highschool students?”
Surprised, the deity lets out a laugh. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”
“But I’m not wrong, right?” The man’s golden gaze seems to sparkle after knowing he’s made the dark-haired immortal laugh. “They… they’re like a bunch of teens.”
“The adults of this world do the same thing, Bokuto-san,” comes Akaashi’s reminder. “You forget that they were once human. Not all humans are forgiving and benevolent. There will always be an outcast, and I am one in more ways than one in their eyes.” He fishes out his pendant, holds it up to the light. “This pendant is not one that the gods like to see. I do not know why myself, but I can’t stand it when they insult it. So I keep it hidden.”
“Is that why you were so defensive about it the first time we met?” Frowning, Bokuto leans forward. Then, unable to help himself, he walks over to Akaashi, crossing over an imaginary line he wasn’t sure he could cross to begin with. But, contrary to his expectations, the deity doesn’t make him back away. He lets him approach.
The spirit’s gaze traces the object in Akaashi’s pale hands. He itches to reach for it, but holds himself back for fear that he might be pushed away again. He isn’t sure if he can handle going through that twice in one day. Akaashi is like a cat; Bokuto can’t recklessly approach him.
“... Yes,” the deity replies, finally. With one sitting and one standing, Akaashi has to look up to meet the other’s gaze. Bokuto sucks in a breath. “Among other things. The demons are not unaware of who I am. Some like to insult me and some like to treat me with respect. I thought you were of the former category.”
Bokuto frowns. Hesitantly, he makes to sit down, and, surprisingly, Akaashi shifts over to accommodate him. Careful to avoid the locks of hair on the bed, Bokuto gently gathers the soft locks and sets them aside, lamenting that he can’t run his hands through it. Though he feels like being able to touch his hair without asking to is already a blessing in itself seeing as Akaashi didn’t bite his hand off for it. “How do they know who you are?”
The other combs his delicate fingers through his hair as he gathers it to the other side so Bokuto can sit without being conscious of his dark locks. “I mentioned that those of Diyu favoured me more than those in the Heavens. It’s because I often find myself helping them.” He frowns. “Demons are often treated like they are beneath those of the heavens, even to the officials. I don’t treat them that way.” He meets Bokuto’s gaze. “In my early days, I was often sent to the Lower Realms to aid the officials—not heavenly ones—in charge below. That is why I am so acquainted with it.”
Somehow, Bokuto thinks it’s oddly fitting, though he can’t place why. “Did you hate it when they assigned the task to you?”
“No,” comes the immediate reply. Akaashi shakes his head. “I knew they were lowering my position as a whole while they were sending me down, but Diyu is more homely than the Heavenly Realms. The ghosts live like they have nothing to lose; they’re more likely to treat you with kindness and respect if you treat them the same way. And they’ll remember you, because they know how it feels to be forgotten.” A gentle smile tugs at Akaashi’s lips. “I find myself rather fond of them. You would like it there. They’re all very loud and very inclined to party and have fun.” A slightly amused gaze meets with Bokuto’s. “I’m sure you’d like that.”
Though Bokuto is fairly certain that he was just insulted, he can’t help but grin. “Akaashi,” he coos. “You know me so well!”
The deity rolls his eyes. “Six days is a long time to know someone if you’re spending all twenty-four hours with them back-to-back.”
And maybe, Bokuto thinks, unable to help himself. It’s because you’ve already known me far before that.
You just don’t remember.
He frowns.
And I don’t either.
——————
When Bokuto wakes up seven hours later, he runs into Iwaizumi. Literally. He bumps against his back and both men stagger in surprise.
“Oh,” Iwaizumi says upon meeting Bokuto’s gaze. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” Bokuto agrees, tossing the deity a careless grin, which seems to irk him. He finds it ironic how it’s the god that’s more uncomfortable rather than the spirit, but doesn’t comment on it. “How’s everything going?”
Iwaizumi’s tone is stiff. “... It’s alright. We were discussing how we’d handle the situation.” He relaxes minutely, now that he’s talking about something he’s more comfortable with. “And what might go down in the near future.”
Sarcastically, Bokuto says, “Let me guess—a big fight?”
Iwaizumi blinks. “Well, yeah. In a few days, at the latest, probably.”
Bokuto falls silent, clearly not expecting to be right. But then again, with how things have been going, he supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. So he asks, “What do you do? In Heaven, I mean.”
Iwaizumi frowns. “I’m a martial god. One of the major ones, so I handle bigger things like these. I’m in charge of questioning any criminals, too. My whip—” he gestures to the weapon at his side “—helps me make sure they aren’t lying.”
“What happens when they do?”
“... Well, it keeps them alive. Barely.”
Bokuto blinks. “Oh. So you’re, like, high up there?”
The deity blows out a breath. “I guess you could say that.”
“Why do you look at me all weird, by the way?” Bokuto asks, leaning against the wall. Iwaizumi stiffens somewhat, but doesn’t really answer. So the spirit keeps talking. “You look like you want to say something but it always gets stuck in your throat. And like you have no idea what to do with me.”
Iwaizumi almost chokes and ends up coughing instead. Bokuto’s eyes widen and he rushes forward. “Whoa, dude, you good?”
The deity holds up a hand. “I’m—fine,” he chokes out. “Just. Give me a moment.”
So he does. When Iwaizumi finally gathers his bearings, he straightens and clears his throat, a sigh escaping his lips. He gives himself a few more moments before speaking again. “You…” He frowns, purses his lips, then continues. “You just remind me of someone, is all.”
Bokuto blinks. “I do?”
“Yeah. I knew him really well.” Iwaizumi snorts. “I hated him at first, though.”
“Oh.” The silence falls over them like a blanket before the spirit breaks it again. “Was he a good person?”
“He was. But he was also misunderstood a lot.” Iwaizumi’s gaze is distant, as though he’s recalling a memory. “He was a very bright person. He invented a lot of things that we still use today. Some people sort of upgraded his things, but a lot of them—the ones he made himself—are still here. And they’re still in use. You might have used a few already, but you just don’t know it.” Iwaizumi tilts his head to the side. “Sometimes, I wonder what he’d think of this world and the current Heavens if he were still here.”
Now, he levels his gaze at Bokuto. “... You would have liked him.”
“What was his name?”
But before Iwaizumi can answer, there’s a sharp rap on the door, which they probably shouldn’t have been able to hear seeing as the door is on the ground floor, where they aren’t. Nonetheless, the duo rush down upon hearing it. Akaashi, Kageyama and Hinata join them along the way.
The door opens.
Bokuto’s golden eyes meet with mismatched ones. Dark hair, thick lips, mischievous eyes. Beom.
His slim figure stands in the doorway with crossed arms and a wholly unimpressed expression, but his tone is one of urgency. “Took you long enough.” He steps in, meeting each and every one of their gazes.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”